Alveolar Osteitis. Poem by Mary X

you sit by yourself
all the time.
I wonder what you wonder
about
every time your
eyes glide.

maybe your mind has a picture
inside it. red streams
and green flowers,
oral skies and penetrating
cream-coloured houses.

you file neatly into every room.
you fit nicely in your seat
as I slump with dry socket
in mine.
operation time for the infected

that couldn’t resist a cigarette.
that couldn’t resist temptations
of all kinds. was that me? or was
that you? even though
like love; I don’t know you.

bring the gums of infection
out with a syringe
and throw them away.
then, maybe, I’ll be able
to talk to you without
a mouth full of thorns.